Slowly lowly, dearly calmly, i walk the path
Briskly quickly, feisty fiercely, I dare the odds
In a moment all is bliss, in another all is filth
I long for days unwritten, I fear for days forgotten
Though speedily to my rescue comes the time keeper, gradually to my dismay goes the piper
Life is but a journey; a movie as that on the broadway giving happy endings to lovers but broken dreams to thinkers

Right after we shut the doors and our dark-coffee brown colored curtains are pulled together; when darkness forms like a shield to the outside; the peering or seeing eyes.

When the walls are sound proof, some kind of vacuum in the bricks to keep away eavesdropping servants, maidens, neighbors, friends and family. Just in some sort of solitary but within a space of our chosen muse and companions, soon to be cohorts.

When only the few selected or persmissible are witnesses except that all the same it’s still the same aloneness because those within are chosen consciously or unconsciously, this very kinds of closet and all the other kinds of closet simply become the definitions of who we truly are.

In this closet, just when we think others aren’t watching or the immediate “enemy” is far away, and right judgements are distant, perhaps delayed because surely they come.

In this closet, at those times, in this cycles, this web and darkness we become the acceptable or dispensable monsters, the devils or the mirrors of faith and light; because it’s always a black or white, a sweet or bitter, a bad or good affair!

We are truly who we are alone. We show only who’s we are or belong. We are naked to ourselves and fulfill our own desires, we show to whom we are spellbound and enslaved. We are conceited in our capacity to please our very privacy and selected space without the notion to be just who and what we reflect in the public’s eye. We discover our own strengths and weaknesses within and without the walls of our very own thoughts of freedom or bondage. We are chained to this disease, so viral enough to pervade soul and spirit.

Slaves in the closet; zombies in a world of our own definition! We bless or curse to become, gnashing or joying in remorse or victories won. We can only be sure who’s we are in the closet because we all think the battle without isn’t piety or leaves us in contempt by the unapproved eyes of the our unchosen world.

As I looked at the man in the mirrors of my closet, I saw my wretchedness, a waywardness and cowardice of only the Pharisees! A denial of faith and denouncement of belief and life itself. I groped in cycles of shame and vainities so mundane.

Today I write to fellow slaves of the closet, chained to cycles of failure and contempt, broken within and darkened. Ashamed and abashed for need to truly live like Sunday daily! Churched within But charred within! There is a hope that comes with just seeing the chains and ropes tied around our hearts, eyes and ears. There is a hope to be truly free and be slaves to life and love for Him.